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Love in a hut, with water and a crust, Is - Love, forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust.

John Keats

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John Keats
Age: 25 †
Born: 1795
Born: October 31
Died: 1821
Died: February 23
Judge-Rapporteur
Physician
Poet
Huts
Ashes
Forgive
Forgiving
Dust
Water
Love
Cinders
Life
Crust

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I shall soon be laid in the quiet grave--thank God for the quiet grave--O! I can feel the cold earth upon me--the daisies growing over me--O for this quiet--it will be my first.
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Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass Their pleasures in a long immortal dream.
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There is an awful warmth about my heart like a load of immortality.
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I am sailing with thee through the dizzy sky! How beautiful thou art!
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Nothing is finer for the purposes of great productions than a very gradual ripening of the intellectual powers.
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Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter therefore, ye soft pipes, play on Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone.
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No one can usurp the heights... But those to whom the miseries of the world Are misery, and will not let them rest.
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And shade the violets, That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.
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Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music:--do I wake or sleep?
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Many have original minds who do not think it - they are led away by custom!
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The only means of strengthening one's intellect is to make up one's mind about nothing, to let the mind be a thoroughfare for all thoughts.
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I do think better of womankind than to suppose they care whether Mister John Keats five feet high likes them or not.
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The thought, the deadly thought of solitude.
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O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell, Let it not be among the jumbled heap Of murky buildings: climb with me the steep,-- Nature's observatory--whence the dell, In flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell, May seem a span let me thy vigils keep 'Mongst boughs pavilion'd, where the deer's swift leap Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.
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There is an electric fire in human nature tending to purify - so that among these human creatures there is continually some birth of new heroism. The pity is that we must wonder at it, as we should at finding a pearl in rubbish.
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It is a flaw In happiness to see beyond our bourn, - It forces us in summer skies to mourn, It spoils the singing of the nightingale.
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So rainbow-sided, touch'd with miseries, She seem'd, at once, some penanced lady elf, Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self.
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If I should die, I have left no immortal work behind me — nothing to make my friends proud of my memory — but I have loved the principle of beauty in all things, and if I had had time I would have made myself remembered.
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Like a mermaid in sea-weed, she dreams awake, trembling in her soft and chilly nest.
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